


now we're face to face

by vrooom



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Fluff, Lots of Angst, M/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 22:42:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2000703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vrooom/pseuds/vrooom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My name Bucky.” It’s hard for him to pronounce his full name. He’s always liked the “buh” sound that his lips make when he smacks them together.</p><p>The little boy smiles back at him. “Steve.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	now we're face to face

“Tell me how much you love me.”

They’ve known each other all their short lives; from the moment that Bucky saw a tiny boy trip over his own shoelaces and fall flat on his face.

Bucky feels bad, watching the boy struggle to sit up alone out in the open, looking like he’s trying hard not to cry. He toddles over to the other boy, chubby limbs awkward as he tries to maneuver so he doesn’t fall himself.

He makes it over, the little boy still sitting on the ground. Bucky plops down on the ground next to him patting his arm gently. The little boy looks up in surprise as Bucky smiles at him.

“My name Bucky.” It’s hard for him to pronounce his full name. He’s always liked the “buh” sound that his lips make when he smacks them together.

The little boy smiles back at him. “Steve.”

Bucky stands up, knocking into Steve. “Come on, let’s play!” he calls over his shoulder, looking back to make sure Steve follows along.

 

They’re bigger now. Bucky is eight and Steve is almost seven. They’re all grown up now, running around shrieking as they play, making blanket tents and fighting imaginary monsters on rainy days.

Bucky is a strong boy. He shows the promise of broad shoulders and the graceful line of his back as he twists and turns has his father nodding in approval. His son will grow up to be a hard worker.

In contrast, Steve is sickly. His baby fat evaporated quickly, knees knobby and elbows poking out. Steve’s face is pallid on good days and looks like so much skin stretched over a skull on bad ones. He has a perpetual cough and carries around a handkerchief so large that it covers his face. Side by side, Steve and Bucky are an odd pair. One fair, the other dark. One with the bones of a fledgling bird, the other already standing solid, feet firmly rooted to the earth.

However odd, Bucky and Steve are a pair. One doesn’t come without the other, and where one is, the other is sure to follow.

 

Bucky is twelve and Steve is eleven when Steve asks Bucky a question. “Why d’you do this?” His voice high, slightly reedy as he tries to catch his breath. The neighborhood boys had ganged up on him again, and rather than run, he had stood up to push them away. Unsurprisingly, the boys had not budged. Instead, they laughed loudly at his attempts to defend himself. They had only scattered when Bucky bulled into the little clump, eyes flashing as he tried to grab hold of a boy.

“Whaddya mean?” Bucky shifts to look at him. They’re sitting on the steps to a building, shoulder to shoulder as they watch automobiles sputter and roar by on the streets. The setting sun flashes and winks occasionally when it hits shiny chrome, making the boys raise an arm reflexively to shield their eyes.

“You can have lots of friends. If you’re not friends with me. Why do ya stick around?” Steve sounds genuinely confused, tilting his head to look at Bucky before he starts coughing, whipping out his handkerchief to catch the tail end of his wheezing.

Bucky waits, used to Steve’s coughing fits. They’d been scary when they first started, Steve’s entire body sometimes shaking from the force of his coughs. He only gets scared now and gets Steve’s ma when the coughing sounds wet and choked off. As Steve stops coughing, he turns back to Bucky. “Sorry.”

“S’alright,” Bucky says. “Stevie, I stick around because I’m your friend.”

Steve looks him, nonplussed. “But... Why? I’m not as strong as you. I don’t run as fast as you. All the girls start whispering when you pass by and they stop when they see I’m with you. I’m not like you.” 

“I’m your friend because I want to be,” Bucky says, exasperated. How could he convince this mook? He thinks quickly. “You remember what Father Murphy said this week? You gotta love your neighbors. And you’re my neighbor.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I don’t think Father Murphy meant your _actual_ neighbor.”

“I know what he meant, I was just joking. But d’ya see? I can have friends, but you’re someone I love.”

“Someone you love?” He sounds incredulous. “You love me?”

“Yeah, I guess?” Bucky says uncertainly. “I mean I love Mama and Papa and little Ellie and you and your ma. That’s it guess.”

Steve is silent for a while. “How much do you love me?”

Bucky grins. “Not enough to let you win the race home today,” he yells behind him as Steve yelps and scrambles to follow.

\--

“Tell me how much you love me.”

Bucky is seventeen and Steve is sixteen and Steve’s ma had been put six feet under not five hours ago. She’d finally succumbed to consumption. Sarah Rogers had been only forty-two, but years of worrying and caring for her sickly son, working to provide for the both of them, and being in poor health herself had led to her coughing thickly to an early grave.

Steve had stood there in the cemetery, looking down at the small gravestone. Her name, date of birth, and date of death were neatly chiseled in, the inscription “Loving Wife and Mother” underneath. He stood there for hours.

Bucky, of course, had stayed with him. He had waved to his parents earlier in the day, motioning for them to go on without him. They had nodded when he pointed at Steve, knowing by now that it was impossible to dissuade Bucky from helping his friend.

The sunlight slanted into Steve’s face as he stared, unfocused, at his mother’s grave. It was only the two of them, the small gathering of people who had come to mourn scurrying away to continue their lives. Sarah Rogers was already tucked away neatly into the back of their minds, a distant memory to cluck over once in a while.

“Come on, Stevie, it’s almost five. You’ve been here for three hours,” Bucky says quietly on his left, glancing at him.

Steve ignores him, not moving a muscle. He shivers every so often, the late fall air obviously seeping through his thin jacket.

“Steve, the sun’s gonna set in an hour and we’ve got a ways to go before we get home. Let’s get moving,” Bucky says more forcefully, trying to gently direct him towards the cemetery entrance. Steve moves limply, head down as he places one foot in front of the other, Bucky guiding him by the elbow.

He comes back to himself as he walks home, eventually falling back to walk side by side with Bucky. His head comes up and he faces forward, still not saying anything. Bucky watches him warily out of the corner of his eye the entire walk back.

When they climb the stairs to the third floor apartment Steve had shared with his mother until yesterday, Bucky tries to think of something to say.

“Look, I was going to ask,” Bucky started, smiling uncertainly.

“I know what you’re gonna say, Buck.” Steve cuts in. “It’s just...” 

“We’ll put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. Even put up some blankets over them,” Bucky says. He shrugs as Steve turns around to look at him. “It’ll be fun. All you gotta do is shine my shoes’n maybe take out the trash,” he jokes weakly.

Steve ignores him as he looks for the house key in his pocket, patting himself down when he can’t find it. 

Bucky walks over to the brick where Steve keeps his spare key. He kicks the brick aside, wincing as he scratches his new leather shoes. Mama’s gonna kill him. He hands Steve the key. “Come on.” 

Steve takes the key, hesitating. Considering. “Thank you Buck. But I can get by on my own.”

“The thing is,” Bucky mumbles to the floor. “You don’t have to.” He’s almost embarrassed by what he’s going to say. Grabbing Steve’s shoulder, Bucky tries to convey his wordless offer of help and support. “I’m with ya ‘till the end of the line pal.”

Steve looks unsettled, staring at the ground, over Bucky’s shoulder, around the neighboring apartments, before sighing and smiling up at Bucky. “Alright,” he says, turning back to the door. He unlocks it and walks in. “You comin’ or what?”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief before he plasters a smirk on his face. “Of course. Who else is gonna clean up the apartment, punk?”

“I am, jerk. You’ve never cleaned a thing in your life.” Steve frowns, clearly not believing him.

“Oh yeah? Well, it’s never too late to start, right?” Bucky grins at him, looking around the living room. It’s dark and musty, at least three weeks worth of dust thick on all the surfaces. Steve had tried to keep the house clean, but as the consumption had gotten worse, his ma’d made him stay over at Bucky’s.

Bucky rolls up his sleeves and grabs a dust rag. “Let’s open up the windows and get started.”

Steve throws him a faint smile, silently thanking him for the distraction.

 

It’s dark by the time they finish, smudges of dust and dirt all over their clothes. Bucky had forgotten to change, and Mama was definitely going to kill him now for getting his Sunday best dirty. He’s sprawled out on the couch next to Steve, tired but satisfied with how the day had ended. Steve, however, is exhausted, swaying next to him. 

“Hey Steve, you ok?” Bucky asks, slightly concerned. Steve sways a little too far, and his head falls on Bucky’s shoulder. Instead of pulling away like he expects, Steve turns his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck, staying there and breathing quietly. In and out. In and out. Bucky stays still and waits, unsure of what to do.

“Thanks Buck.” The whisper is so faint that Bucky almost didn’t hear it. He wouldn’t have, except that he’s hyper aware of lips brushing against his neck.

“No problem pal. That’s what friends are for.” Bucky continues to sit stock-still, mind racing as he tries to figure out what to do next.

“Hey Bucky,” Steve mutters drowsily after a while, halfway asleep.

“Yeah?” Bucky is nodding off too, eyes drifting closed.

“How much do you love me?”

His eyes pop open again, suddenly wide awake. Bucky thinks and thinks, trying to figure out what to say.

“I love you so much that I’d clean your entire goddamn apartment for you if it would make you smile.”

There’s silence, broken only by deep breathing. Bucky gently pushes Steve from his shoulder, laying him down on the couch. He grabs a cushion, snorting as he remembers what he said in the afternoon. Bucky lies down on the ground next to Steve, falling asleep to the gentle snores of his best friend.

\---

“How much do you love me?”

Bucky is twenty-four and Steve is twenty-three.

James Buchanan Barnes is back from training, bright eyed and laughing as he pulls Steve into a brief hug.

“Miss me punk?” 

“Nah, not really. Was a lot less messy when you weren’t around. Plus the neighbors didn’t thump on the ceiling as much.” Steve grins widely. It’s been twelve long weeks of basic training, plus another five for sniper training, and he’s missed Bucky. “Maybe a little too quiet around the apartment without you caterwauling like a dying tomcat, jerk.”

He falls into line with Bucky, lengthening his stride as Bucky unconsciously shortens his to match Steve. “I’ll have you know the boys in the company love my singing.”

Steve snorts. “Unless training included voice lessons, I doubt it. They were probably being nice to you,” he checks Bucky’s sleeves and sees chevrons, “sergeant.” He whistles. “Bucky Barnes in charge of men. Who would have thought?”

“Well, I’ve had good practice managing you,” Bucky replies sardonically.

They walk towards the apartment they share, laughing and joking as Steve catches him up on the news in their little neighborhood. The old woman with the hissing cat had finally left 4C, moving in with her son across town. The grocer had gotten married to Millie Brown, you know the girl that was two years ahead of them?

Bucky smiles as he watches Steve earnestly recount the details of the past seventeen weeks. It’s endearing, the way his brow furrows in concentration as he chews at his lower lip.

Steve unlocks the apartment door and walks in, propping the door open for Bucky. “Welcome home.”

Home. Bucky hasn’t been home for a long time. Looking around at the drawings Steve had tacked up to the walls, at the dog eared books crooked on the bookshelves, taking in the smell of dust and soap, Bucky smiles. He’s home.

 

It’s a few weeks before he remembers he has to go back down to the Army office in town to take care of some paperwork. He goes with Steve, promising to meet up with him to go to the pictures in the afternoon.

“Sergeant Barnes, there’s a notice for you that couldn’t get delivered,” a bored secretary tells him as she takes his papers. “Hold on a minute and I’ll find it for ya.”

Bucky sits down, studying the scuffed floorboards as he waits. It’s nothing like the scrubbed wooden floors of their apartment. Between trying to scrape together enough money to get by and attempting to keep Steve alive and safe, there isn’t enough time for anything else. Bucky likes to go out dancing with the dames, but he always sets time aside to clean the apartment with Steve. After the day Sarah Rogers had died, it had become a weekly ritual, rolling up shirtsleeves and cuffing pants to scrub away until everything was clean.

“Sergeant Barnes?” He jerks. The exasperation in the secretary’s voice makes it clear this isn’t the first time she’s called him. “Your papers.”

Bucky accepts the papers with a muttered “thanks” and walks out the door, checking his watch. If he hurried, he would only miss the recruitment reel. No big deal, seeing as how Uncle Sam already had him. He lengthens his stride as he unfolds the papers, eyes darting quickly over the words. Bucky stops abruptly on the sidewalk, breaking up the people walking around him.

The shouts and angry muttering fades into the background as he stares at his papers. He’s to report to the shipyards tomorrow to go to England. Tomorrow. There’s not nearly enough time to say goodbye to Steve, to get everything ready, to make sure that Steve will be okay. He forces himself to fold the papers again, resuming his walk to the movies. I’ll tell Steve after the movies, Bucky promises himself. No need to ruin a good picture.

Before he can even walk into the theater, he hears a commotion in the alleyway. Hoping against hope, he investigates and sighs as he takes in Steven Grant Rogers holding up a trash bin lid as a shield against a burly young boy. He’s clearly been knocked around a couple of times already and it makes Bucky’s blood thunder in his ears.

“Hey, why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” he drawls as he pulls the boy away by the back of the collar. The boy grunts, changing direction to swing sloppily at Bucky. Bucky dodges easily, punching the boy in the solar plexus and kicking him in the rear as he runs from the alleyway.

Bucky watches the boy go before he turns around to raise an eyebrow at Steve.

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve pants.

“Sure you did.”

Steve dusts his jacket and pants off, then accepts the hand in front of his face to pull himself upright. He notices the folded paper gripped tightly in Bucky’s hand and the slight tension in the set of his shoulders. 

“Are those-” 

“Yup.” Bucky lifts his chin, hoping that he looks braver than he feels. “Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out for England tomorrow.”

Steve looks away from him. “It’s so soon,” he says quietly.

Bucky’s composure shatters for a moment, before he forces himself to grin. “Well fortunately for you, we’re going out tonight.”

“Where?”

They walk out of the alleyway, Bucky’s arm slung carelessly over Steve’s shoulder. “That science expo that Stark is doing. C’mon, let’s go home.”

 

Bucky pokes his head into Steve’s room. “You almost ready?” He hasn’t changed from the morning, still sharp in the crisp lines of his wool uniform and starched collar of his shirt. Bucky’s tie knot is perfectly centered and he has his hat in hand as he leans against the doorjamb.

“Yeah, let me just tie this,” Steve waves at his tie. “I can’t ever get it straight. It’s crooked and to the left and too tight every single time.”

“Come here,” Bucky gestures, standing away from the door. Steve walks over and looks to the side, frustrated, as Bucky ties it for him. “No Steve, come on, look at it. You gotta learn how to tie your own tie eventually. I’m not gonna tie it for you forever.”

Steve looks at Bucky as he stops talking abruptly. There it is. They’d been dancing around the subject all afternoon, as Bucky packed what little he was allowed to bring with him in a small bag. It’d been quiet, both of them trying hard not to talk about what would happen tomorrow.

“How much do you love me?” Steve asks suddenly. He’s aware that it’s a childish thing to do, asking Bucky the same question he’s been asking over and over again since he was eleven. This time it’s different. He needs to know. Steve’s desperate and reckless with the knowledge that Bucky is leaving. He wants to remember every little thing Bucky says and does, to bottle it up until he comes back.

Bucky’s hands still, letting go of his tie. He stands back a little, looking at him from head to toe. His eyes move over Steve’s face, from his forehead to his eyes to his sharp cheekbones to his mouth, never stopping for too long. But there’s no real weight behind the look, like he’s unfocused, thinking about something else.

“There. Your tie is tied,” Bucky says as he shakes himself. The mood is broken, and Steve looks down at the perfect knot. Even the ends are right, the top layer finally longer than the lower layer. “We need to leave now or else we’re not gonna get a good spot.”

Bucky walks away, back straight, head forward. He feels Steve’s eyes boring into his back and he resists the urge to run. Both he and Steve are very aware that he hasn’t answered yet.

 

The show is fairly uneventful, minus the exploding car, and Steve doesn’t understand why Bucky is so interested in flying cars. He slips away, towards the recruitment booth he saw advertised as he walked into the expo. 

“You’re gonna try again?” Steve should have known Bucky would always find him.

“Yeah,” Steve turns around. Bucky is right in front of him and the girls are a little farther back, near the fountain. He looks up at Bucky. “I figured one more time can’t hurt.”

“Well, don’t get caught,” Bucky says resignedly. “Wouldn’t want you to be in a holding cell when I can’t get you out in the morning.”

Steve nods. That’s right. Another reminder that he’s leaving tomorrow.

“Well, this is it I guess.” Bucky hangs around awkwardly, unsure of how to hold himself for the first time since he was twelve, palms sweaty as he asked his first girl to the movies.

“This is it.” Steve looks at him soberly. He looks reluctant to turn back to the enlistment booth, and Bucky can’t bear to see him look miserable.

“Hey,” Bucky says suddenly. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

Steve scoffs. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” His eyes rest on Bucky’s face, trying to memorize his face in case... In case... Steve refuses to think about it.

“You’re a punk.” Bucky says fondly. One last little ritual before he leaves.

“Jerk,” Steve replies.

As Bucky moves in to hug Steve, he holds Steve tight and whispers “I love you so much I promise I’ll come back alive.” His lips graze Steve’s forehead as he pulls back. Neither of them knows whether it was intentional or an accident.

Bucky starts walking towards the girls, and Steve suddenly wants to see his face again. “Be careful,” he calls out. It sounds too much like a dame saying her farewells to a sweetheart. “Don’t win the war until I get there,” he hastily adds, trying to act nonchalant.

Bucky turns and salutes with military precision before turning around to rejoin his dates. Steve watches his best friend walk away from him for what may be the last time.

\---

“Tell me how much you love me.”

Bucky is twenty-five and Steve is twenty-four.

“Told you,” Bucky says smugly. “They’re all idiots.”

Steve’s been talking to some people, gathering the men he observed were the best in combat and convincing them to join a special operations force for the SSR.

He inclines his head towards Bucky, conceding the point. Talking to the others was the easy part. Now for the hard part. Heart pounding, lump in his throat, Steve asks. “What about you? You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?” He takes a seat next to Bucky, smiling lopsidedly at him.

“Hell no.” His heart starts beating faster. “Everyone else,” Bucky gestures at the rest of the bar, “They’re following Captain America.” He says it mockingly, making it clear what he thought of those people who would have never bothered to give him a second glance before the war.

Steve looks at him quizzically. “And what about you?” he asks, confused. After all, if he didn’t follow Captain America, would he transfer? Could he be leaving? There’s a peculiar ache in his chest, a constricting tightness obstructing his breathing that he hasn’t felt in seven months.

“Me?” Bucky smirks at Steve. “I’m following the little guy from Brooklyn. The one that was too dumb not to run away from a fight.”

The tightness in his chest eases, and Steve offers a small smile in return.

Bucky leans in close, eyes glinting mischievously. “You’re keeping the outfit, right?”

He’s about to reply when a commotion at the door distracts him. Both he and Bucky look up, and it’s Agent Carter - Peggy - in a red dress. She’s almost unrecognizable. All the men are staring at her, whistling appreciatively under their breaths. She may be in a dress, but they’re still mindful that she could deliver a solid right hook to their jaw if she wanted. She ignores all of them and looks straight at Steve.

Steve glances at Peggy and turns back to Bucky to desperately ask what to do. Bucky shrugs at him, saying “She's only got eyes for you.”

Peggy starts walking towards them, eyes fixed steadily on Steve, not even bothering to glance at Bucky. He laughs. “I’m invisible. I’m turning into you. It’s like a horrible dream.”

Steve tries to ask him what he means, but Bucky’d already slipped away to the rest of the future Commandos, laughing and joking with them as they all try to look surreptitiously at Steve and Peggy.

It’s more than a little uncomfortable, when Peggy reaches him. They look at each other and smile stiltedly in the middle of the bar.

“Um, you look nice,” Steve says, hand scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Thank you,” Peggy replies.

Both of them are well aware of those watching, the men whispering about how the hero always gets the girl. Steve absentmindedly makes a note to have the men work on their stealth and communication as he gestures toward the bar stools and they sit down.

“So,” Steve starts after a while. He’s tongue tied like he never was before with her, not sure what to say. “D’you... D’ya want anything to drink?”

“I’ll have a beer, same as you,” Peggy is still sitting a little stiffly, mindful of the eyes that continue to bore into their backs. Steve casts about wildly for a something they can talk about. Not the war. Not here. Not when Peggy is like this.

“It must be nice to be home,” He blurts without thinking. _Good going, Rogers_ he berates himself. What was he going to talk about next? The weather?

“Well, I suppose it is,” Peggy replies, tilting her head to the side. She considers the thought silently for a moment. “I am home in that I can smell the rain in the air and everyone finally sounds right and I can trudge through the muddy fields under an overcast sky.” She smiles wryly as Steve nods and laughs. The last few days were drenched in rain and training had left the men soggier than usual.

Peggy’s smile melts away and she looks serious. “But I wish I could have come home under different circumstances. Staying at a military base trying to fight an enemy with highly advanced weaponry bent on world domination isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.

“It must be hard, being so close and unable to meet your friends and family,” Steve agrees, wondering for the umpteenth time about Peggy. Does she have a mother? A father? Siblings? How did she grow up? What’s her favorite food? Steve didn’t think he’d ever be able to learn enough about the mysterious Peggy Carter who had wormed her way into his heart without him noticing. 

She nods. “It’s for the best. They think I’m part of the telephone operator pool to help the war effort.” Peggy grins unexpectedly, white teeth flashing.

Steve laughs outright, eyes crinkling as he looks at Peggy. He feels like he’s been let in on a big secret. Everyone else in the bar finally forgotten, he leans in closer, forehead almost touching Peggy’s. “So they think you’re behind the line somewhere switching out lines and running papers? That doesn’t sound anything like you,” Steve teases.

“Yes, well that was the only way that Mother and Father would have let me join the war,” Peggy replies. “It’s not like I could simply enlist in the military. I had to fight my way into the SSR, climbing up on the backs of men who thought me a pretty face and an empty head.” Her voice rings with fierce satisfaction.

“Now that sounds like the Peggy I know,” Steve whispers smiling fondly. Peggy smiles back.

 

Steve enters the room a few hours later. “Look at you, the man of the hour,” Bucky crows, throwing his hands up in the air. Limited space had been available to the returning members of the 107th so he and Bucky were sharing a room. “What is that?” He comes in closer, peering at Steve’s face. “Do you always wear lipstick when you go out? Or did someone kiss you goodbye as they dropped you off?” Bucky bats his eyelashes at him. 

Steve flushes, covering his mouth with his hand. “I thought I got it off,” he mumbles, voices muffled. Going to the sink, he washes his hands and face clean of the grime and sweat from the day. He scrubs hard at his lips while Bucky laughs.

“But seriously, Stevie,” Bucky says behind him after a moment. Steve raises a brow inquiringly at him in the mirror as he brushes his teeth. “You’re a lucky bastard, finding a lady like that.” 

Mouth full, Steve spits before replying. “I guess I am,” he grins happily, getting ready for bed.

“I told you that you’d find a dame someday that would look back,” Bucky said. “I told you that you’d find more people to look out for you. You’ve got more friends than just your old pal Bucky now.”

Steve gawks as Bucky crawls into his blankets. The words might be congratulatory, but there’s a certain tinge of melancholy, jealousy maybe, that belies his encouragement. “Bucky-”

“Good night pal.”

It’s hours after he’s turned off the lights, enough for Bucky’s breathing to become even and deep. “How much do you love me?” Steve whispers into the dark. He doesn’t really expect a reply, saying it out loud out of habit.

A voice issues from his left. It’s tired and sleepy, each word so quiet Steve has to strain to hear it. “I love you so much, I’ll follow that kid from Brooklyn wherever he goes.” 

\---

“Tell me how much you love me.”

Bucky is thirty and Steve is twenty-nine.

It took Steve eight months tracking the Winter Soldier’s footsteps to finally catch up with him somewhere in the slums of Thailand. Another three months passed before the Winter Soldier - though he couldn’t really be called that anymore - cautiously agreed to return to the United States, where the fragile skeletons of a new organization to replace SHIELD was forming.

Bucky is underfed, malnourished, dirty, and far from sound of mind. Another three months pass before Bucky no longer flinches away from people in white lab coats. He finally looks someone in the eye as they talk to him. Bucky’s slowly coming back to himself, bits and pieces of memories from before his fall slowly filtering back into his brain.

The doctors release Bucky five months after they first hospitalized him. Steve hangs around the entrance, pacing nervously with his arms crossed over his chest. He’d talked to Bucky through the phone and with reinforced plexiglass between them, doctors and security always mindful of the safety of their respective charges. But that wasn’t the same. He’d be able to walk side by side with Bucky again like he hadn’t in over seventy years, and Steve isn’t sure how he felt about it. Elated, of course. But also fearful, worried that Bucky would no longer want to be around him.

Steve shakes the cobwebs from his mind as the door opens. Bucky walks out, still pale, face blank but no longer gaunt with matted hair. He takes a visibly deep breath and walks out the door, down the steps, onto the sidewalk. He’s holding a duffel bag slung carelessly over his shoulder. Steve walks forward too. Towards Bucky. He’s still nervous as he stops in front of him, face to face.

“Hey,” Steve forces out. His stomach is turning somersaults with anxiety, heart pounding wildly like he’s just run a marathon. He feels a little lightheaded, but manages to smile weakly at Bucky.

Bucky searches his face and smiles, a little lopsided like he doesn’t quite know how it works. “Hey punk,” he says eventually. He drops his bag and catches Steve in a tight hug as Steve wonders where he should put his hands.

He whispers, “I told you I’d come back.”

Steve pulls back, mouth already opening to ask what he means.

“I might not remember a lot of things, but I do remember that,” Bucky informs him. “That’s how much I love you.”

Steve smiles so wide his cheeks start to hurt.

\---

“Tell me how much you love me.”

Bucky is thirty-six and Steve is thirty-five.

Beams of light fly everywhere as the Avengers spring off cars and the corners of buildings, flying through the air to take down aliens. It’s another day in New York City battling aliens that seem intent on destroying humanity.

“Do you ever wonder why everyone comes to New York?” Clint muses as he shoots another down from his perch on the twentieth floor. 

“Maybe they want to do some sightseeing before they destroy it,” Tony quips, running decoy for some aliens right into Thor’s hammer. “Take some pictures at Times Square. Maybe see the Statue of Liberty." 

“You guys wanna keep the comm lines clear?” Steve asks testily. “We need them for actual emergencies. Talk about your alien theories after the battle.”

“But _Steve_ ,” Bucky whines. “Most of them’re gone already and the battle is pretty much over.” He grins and winks at Natasha behind him, who rolls her eyes before throwing a knife over his shoulder. He looks behind in surprise, an alien four feet away dropping with a blade in its throat. “Oh yeah. Thanks Nat.” 

“No buts,” Steve orders, sounding exasperated. “We need-” He cuts off with a cry of pain and surprise, all the Avengers searching to see where he is.

Bucky spots him first. He’s about half a mile away, a bright red and blue speck lying limply on the ground. “STEVE,” he roars. He starts making his way towards the speck.

“No,” Steve says. He sounds strained. “It’s nothing. Take care of the hostiles first. That applies to all of you. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky dispatches the hostile closest to him without a word. The next twenty minutes are a whirlwind of cold detached fury, Bucky dispassionately felling swathes of aliens around him. The Avengers watch for a moment before leaping into action again themselves. They’re reminded that Bucky was the Winter Soldier and the Winter Soldier was the best of the best.

The last hostile doesn’t even hit the ground before Bucky drops his weapons and races over to Steve, ripping off his gloves as he runs. 

“Steve, you okay?” Bucky yells. He stops short at the sight before him on the ground. “Oh Steve, oh my god. Oh my god.”

Steve smiles feebly at him. “Hey Buck.”

He’s lying on the floor, legs sprawled out. His right ankle is bent at an unnatural angle, costume torn and tattered in different places. But everything else pales in comparison to the weapon protruding from the middle of his chest.

“You call that nothing?” Bucky asks, voice rising higher and higher as he speaks, leaning over Steve. “You have a giant spear coming out of your chest and you call that nothing? Steve you-” he trails off as Steve coughs, blood bubbling from his lips.

“Somebody help me!” Bucky shouts desperately to his teammates, trying to maneuver Steve up to carry him. He stops halfway when Steve grunts in pain. “Sorry,” Bucky apologizes over and over, looking down. Steve is lying with his head in Bucky’s lap, looking up.

“S’alright Buck,” he breathes. “Didn’t hurt that much.”

Hysterical laughter threatens to bubble up from the pit of Bucky’s stomach. “Doesn’t hurt that much? Steve, we hafta get this thing out of your chest as fast as we can we gotta go to the hospital we gotta make sure you’re not losing too much blood and-” He stops as Steve clutches weakly at his arm.

“Buck,” he whispers. Bucky shuts up instantly. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Of course there is,” Bucky says stubbornly. He looks at the flesh around the weapon. Blood is slowly sleeping through Steve’s uniform, staining the bright blue darker as the wetness blooms across the fabric. He’s pretty sure there’s blood soaking into his pants too, where his leg is supporting some of Steve’s weight. “There’s always something we can do Steve. Let’s start by pulling this thing out.” He reaches towards the end. “It’s is gonna hurt a little-”

“Bucky, no.” Steve’s hand is on his wrist again, a gentle touch stronger than any restraint he had ever felt or used. “Bucky, you have to listen to me.”

Bucky looks away, unwilling to look as Steve talks in that tone of voice. The one that says things are serious. He finally notices the rest of the Avengers huddled around. Bucky’s vaguely aware that Tony is yelling something in his suit, probably something medical for Steve.

“Hey. Hey Buck,” Steve coughs wetly, trickles of blood sliding down the corner of his mouth. Bucky turns to look at him, gently brushing away the blood with his thumb. He leaves his hand on Steve’s cheek, lingering instead of pulling away like he normally would.

“Yeah Steve?” Bucky replies, trying his hardest to smile down at him He can feel hot pinpricks behind his eyes, an emotional reaction that he hasn’t had for as long as he can remember. Steve’s trying to say something, but he can’t get out more than a rasping breath. Leaning forward, foreheads almost touching, Bucky looks at Steve.

“The stick... it went through my lung,” Steve whispers. “Nicked my heart too, I think. I’ve lost too much blood. The roads are blocked and help won’t come in time." 

“We’ll get Thor to fly you,” Bucky whispers back fiercely. “Tony’ll support you so that it’d be comfortable on your way there.” A suspicious warmth trails down the side of his face. He’s desperately trying to distract Steve from what he’s going to say. “Come on, you gotta hold on for just a few minutes longer, can you do that for me?”

Steve’s eyes had fluttered closed, lashes dark against his pale face, while Bucky had been talking.

“Steve?” He suddenly remembers the times before the war when Steve had been sick. Bucky had sat next to Steve’s bedside for hours, making sure he was okay. Steve had always emerged from the scarlet fever and pneumonia and the whooping cough and everything he had gone through kicking and punching. And that was before the serum. With the serum, Steve must be invincible. Had to be invincible. Unbreakable. “Steve? Stevie?” He’s frantic, trying to get Steve to wake up.

His eyes open slowly, still lucid but tired, squinting against the pain.

Bucky sighs in relief. “Thought I’d lost you there for a second, pal,” he tries to joke feebly. His attempt at levity sounds hollow, though Steve manages to roll his eyes a little.

“You gotta listen to me.” Steve can barely speak now, breathing wetly as his lungs rattle and creak. There’s more blood dribbling down from his mouth, and Bucky tries to wipe it away again and again, leaving the side of Steve’s face smeared with blood. The dark splotch on Steve’s uniform has been growing larger and larger as he grows weaker. “I have something I need to tell you.”

The tears are falling thick from Buck, droplets dripping down onto Steve. The teardrops make tracks in the drying blood on his face. “You can’t go yet,” Bucky whispers miserably. “I’ve been telling you all this time how much I love you, and you’ve never told me how much you love me.” He sniffles, nose clogged as he tries to contain himself. “Punk.” One last little ritual before he leaves.

“Well go on then,” Steve says. He visibly gathers his strength, tilting his head to meet Bucky’s eyes fully. “Ask me.”

“How much- how much do you love me?” Bucky chokes out, voice wavering and faltering.

The corners of Steve’s lips turn up slightly, his face already peaceful and far away. “I love you so much I’ll be waiting for you, jerk.”

His eyes close.

**Author's Note:**

> this was written while i listened to [jamie cullum's cover of please don't stop the music](http://youtu.be/S0z1Mo7O6dE) over and over again
> 
> thank you as always to [Paula](http://inkorstardust.tumblr.com), my beta, who is also the absolute best person in the entire world
> 
> feel free to yell at me on [my tumblr](http://captainfart.tumblr.com)


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